


Beautiful Monster

by Renata Lord (snowlight)



Series: Across Three Lives [2]
Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:09:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25008229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowlight/pseuds/Renata%20Lord
Summary: “Pass me the socks.”AKA the S1E5 backstage quickie that begged to be written.Very mild references to foot kink.
Relationships: César Gaviria/Eduardo Sandoval
Series: Across Three Lives [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555135
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14
Collections: Serenata de Amor





	Beautiful Monster

_May 1989 _  
Bogota, Colombia__

“Pass me the socks.”

It’s not that Eduardo hasn’t heard him. The young man has already fished them out of the bag. But instead of handing them over like the good boy that César knows he is, Eduardo is standing there with a smug grin on his face. 

“What is it?”

“Let me put them on for you,” says Eduardo, ever-blunt. 

César is vaguely aware of Galán’s voice booming from the stage. _“We will fight corruption at every level of government, and we will triumph over the insidious influences of the narcos...”_ Words César wrote himself, to be sure, but somehow sounding dangerously foreign and faraway in this moment. 

He clears his throat. 

“Don’t be silly,” he tilts his head towards the stage and holds out his hand. 

Eduardo’s grin only grows more wolfish. “So? The man is very occupied.”

It’s true that they haven’t seen each other in three days because César had been campaigning with Galán in Barranquilla and Cartagena. It’s also true that Galán’s speech will not finish for another good sixteen minutes. But the only relevant truth here is, César is just hopelessly weak whereas Eduardo is concerned, and they both know it. 

So he feigns wounded pride by uncrossing his legs and sticking both feet out from the chair. “Well, you better start from the beginning.”

*

He kneels down and unties the shoelaces with typical efficiency, then carefully slides the shoes off César’s feet. First right, then left. César’s feet are smaller than his own, but then again, Eduardo is half a head taller than the man. 

He presses softly against the sole on one foot and smirks as César shifts above him.

“Stay still, please,” he lifts up the trousers’ hem with one hand and runs his fingers up the sock’s cuff with the other. One firm tug and the cotton slides down easily enough, save for a brief pause at the heel. César obliges by stretching his foot, presenting a smooth, naked arch.

With some reluctance, Eduardo shifts his attention to the other foot and repeats the act. César’s toes are quite perfectly shaped and carefully groomed. He has an urge to kiss them but settles for playing with them just a little.

“I have created a monster.”

Eduardo looks up. César is smiling down at him, brown eyes full of warm affection and mock despair. 

It _is_ César’s fault, really. Eduardo’s life trajectory is clearly delineated into two parts—before he met César Gaviria and after. Before, he had slept with men without sparing a moment’s thought about their feet. It was César’s vocal partialness for clean socks that stirred his curiosity, driven by a desire to please and titillate his much more experienced lover.

“I am _your_ monster,” he plants a quick kiss on the arch of the foot, then picks up a clean sock.

*

“You need to finish the job.”

Eduardo, still half-kneeling in front of him, looks far too innocent. “But I did put them on. Or do you mean the shoes?”

“Yes, the shoes,” says César pointedly. No matter how tempted he might be right now, he is not going to get caught with his pants down while managing a presidential campaign.

Eduardo hums and obeys. He handles César’s feet like they are delicate musical instruments, fit to be caressed and played. When he finally ties the shoelaces back, it’s on the wrong side of tight and César lets out a small gasp.

“Oh, sorry,” but Eduardo doesn’t appear the least contrite. He leans forward, elbows resting on César’s knees. “I can make it up to you.”

Before César can even answer, he adds: “I promise I won’t leave a mess.”

César forces himself to zone out to Galán’s voice again—“ _in order to achieve progress, to acquire dignity, and to know our rights…_ ” 

—Eleven minutes. Bloody hell.

“Why can’t you save it for tonight?”

“Because you won’t be back till late and I have an 8AM meeting. But more importantly, because I missed you. C’mon, take this ugly sweater off and unbutton your pants.”

Normally César would defend his wardrobe choices, but the candidate’s speech isn’t about to become magically longer, so this is not the time to argue with an annoyingly competent lawyer. Now it’s his turn to obey, and this he does with as much grace as possible.

Eduardo comes up for a coffee-flavored kiss before getting to work. He starts out slow, nuzzling against César’s underside and humming happily like a cat toying with prey. César cards his hands through those dark curls, silently urging Eduardo to get on with it. He is already half-hard from earlier and they are short on time.

It doesn’t take long for Eduardo to shift gear from erratic teases to a steady rhythm. Galán’s voice has grown indistinct but César can hear every labored breath, every satisfied lick, and every damp kiss. The obscene sounds travel up through his bones and shoot straight into his brain. He clings to the armrests but can’t stop himself from squirming. He is ensconced between the cold wood and Eduardo’s impossibly warm body. It burns him like a fever. 

When Eduardo takes all of him in, César bucks against the chair. Eduardo grabs him by his legs and pins him in place, drowning him in a sea of heat. He is being pulled under and he struggles to breathe. He’s getting close now, very close—

“How much time have we got left?” Eduardo suddenly pulls off him with a wet pop. 

“ _What_?” he hisses, “You ask this _now_?”

“Well?” Eduardo runs a thumb along the head and César nearly chokes.

“ _…I have every faith in the people of our shining nation…_ ”

“Three minutes,” he mutters through gritted teeth.

“Okay,” and Eduardo pulls himself up just like that.

César looks up in horror and sheer incredulity. The boy’s lips are still red and shiny with spit, and he has the gall to stop and leave César hanging.

“ _Bonito_ , you promised—” if he sounds desperate, he doesn’t care.

“I promised that I wouldn’t leave a mess,” says Eduardo, already halfway to the door. “See you tonight. Give my regards to Galán.”

Then the door shuts with a soft creak.

Three minutes. One minute to calm himself down and button up his trousers. Another minute to redo his shoelaces and wipe his face. The last, for pouring himself another glass of orange juice and pretending that he hasn’t been visited by a beautiful monster.

But César will have the rest of the day to plot his revenge, and he knows they’re both looking forward to it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry Eduardo turned out to be such a tease, but I'm sure he and César deserve each other.


End file.
